


The Hounds

by cherryfern109



Category: The Protomen
Genre: FUCK, Gen, Songfic, basically I'm trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfern109/pseuds/cherryfern109
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can almost hear the hounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hounds

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basically Protomen trash. 
> 
> Anyway, for the Short Story unit of my Writer's Craft class, I chose to write my own interpretation of "The Hounds", while my friend did a story for "Hope Rides Alone". I'm super happy with it, for once, so why not actually post something? ^^
> 
> As I didn't want to rip off the characters for a class, I referred to Light as the "Good Doctor", Wily as the "Mastermind", and Emily as the "Beloved", because it's not like we needed more feels, right?
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

The view below him was of dark streets. The streetlamps were lit, of course, but this city was so old and decrepit now that they didn't show much of the world below. _Doesn't matter right now,_ he thought. _Once my dear partner has been dealt with, I'll rebuild it all to my own liking._ He smiled to himself, relishing his success for a few moments.

He'd been so clever, hadn't he? So careful and patient, and now it all fell into place. His idiot of a research partner had built for him a veritable army. The "Good Doctor" had been tricked into creating machines to bring about his mastermind of a partner's rise to power. The Mastermind had played directly off of his emotions, coaxing and cajoling him to continue with their project, with the promise of a brighter future for their city, a world where their people were not slaves to dangerous labours. The Good Doctor's father had died working in the mines, and that fueled him. All the Mastermind really had to do was remind his partner of this every so often, giving the man new drive to complete his work. But that had all turned against him now. The moment the Good Doctor had switched on the results of his life's work, and had gone home, the Mastermind orchestrated his scheme to rid himself of his partner.

He'd stolen away just after the Good Doctor had left, taking his newly powered on right-hand man with him, arming said "man" with a short, yet lethally sharp knife. To the Good Doctor's apartment they'd gone, picked the lock and hid in the shadows. His partner's beloved did show up, just as predicted. A short conversation, in which the Mastermind had hesitated. The Beloved was his friend as well. A childhood friend. They'd played together, laughed together, matured together. He liked her, maybe loved her. But she'd abandoned him for his partner, and showed her loyalty to the Good Doctor by violently rebuking and outright insulting the Mastermind, and maybe vengeance was what finally pushed him to give the order. The Right Hand slid out of the shadows. The flash of the knife, the red of her life's blood gushing from her throat. The opening of the front door, the horror upon the Good Doctor's face, the rush of adrenaline as the Mastermind and the Right Hand fled through the open window, leaving the knife behind, leaving the Good Doctor with his Beloved's corpse and a sea of guilt and sorrow.

Shortly after were the police called, summoned through an "anonymous tip", to find the Good Doctor alone with a corpse and a knife coated in his Beloved's blood. The man had fled, obviously seeing what was to happen, but none of that mattered now. He would be found. The Good Doctor would be captured and blamed for her death. There was no evidence that the Mastermind had ever been there in the first place. All he had to do now was sit through a gaggle of reporters asking questions for a few hours.

_Speak of the devil,_ the Mastermind thought as he heard the loud knocks sounding throughout the now empty lab. His army had been safely evacuated to a large group of warehouses for the time being, so that the stage was flawlessly set. The final nail in his partner's metaphorical coffin would be hammered home without a hitch. He crossed the lab and opened the front door.

Immediately, a crowd of reporters, nearly twenty in all, flooded inside. The lab was filled with the sounds of mindless babble and half-audible questions being hurled at the Mastermind. He gave a gracious smile, and retreated back to his earlier position by the large windows at the forefront of the lab, overlooking the city. His city. The reporters gathered around, many seating themselves on the floor. All were waiting for the Mastermind to speak. Inwardly, he snorted, heart and head full of contempt for the press. They would be obsolete in time. His envisioned utopia would have no need of them. But for now, he needed to satisfy them with at least some information, lest they, and by extension, the people, become suspicious of him.

_Show time._

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "tonight, the streets run red with the spilled blood of a poor innocent, brutally murdered by my homicidally deranged partner, who shortly after fled the scene. The murder weapon was a brutally sharpened knife, wielded by one of the very machines he created to bring peace and happiness to this great city." My city. "There has been no sign of him since, but I have been assured that the police are doing their best to find him."

_I can almost hear the hounds._

He smirked to himself, and continued, "What kind of man builds a machine to kill a girl? He did not use his hands. No, my partner used a tool. But, just the same, can we really expect to let him go free on such a technicality?"

A young female reporter daintily raised her hand near the front. "If I may ask, sir, what was the victim's name?"

He saw the Beloved in his mind's eye, clear as crystal. A flash of light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes. Her smile could light the entire world. Her name very nearly passed his lips. Just as quickly, she was gone, and he took a moment to compose himself before continuing.

"Doesn't matter. Now listen," he said, leaning forward so as to give his words so much more weight, "The Good Doctor has to pay."

Another flash of the Beloved's face. He turned away from the reporters as they filed out, having satisfied their thirst for information on the matter, to look out at the city. There was no time for regret. He'd been planning this for far too long to be remorseful about any of his actions now. He'd worked far too hard to be anything other than ecstatic at his inevitable victory. He peered out the window, scanning the streets. There wasn’t a soul around for what seemed like miles.

His thoughts turned to the man he’d betrayed. He felt no sympathy for the Good Doctor. That was good. Feelings should not get in his way from this moment on. He’d triumphed. He would rebuild the city, feed the people information that would paint him as a deity. Already there were large screens being set up around his city, set to basically brainwash the people into obeying him,to keep them under his thumb, complacent and happy with what he would create for them, his underlings,subjects, and he, the Mastermind, above them all, their ruler, their king, their God. This was his apotheosis.

He pressed his hand against the window, muttering under his breath, directing his quiet monologue towards the man whose life he’d just ruined.

“This has been a long time coming,” he whispered to himself. “If there ever was a time for regrets, my dearest partner, that time has passed, because you and I, my friend, are men, and men bend and break when emotions come into play, as you so obviously have.” He smirked. “If you think that you can run, or stand against me, then you are wrong. You forget who gave me this army.”

  
The Mastermind smiled to himself, glancing at the clock and realizing that the time had nearly come. His plan was coming into full effect, and by the morning after, he would have full control of the city. Everything was in place; his screens set up, ready to show their first broadcast. The Mastermind took a moment to savour the feeling before he went to prepare his first speech of the new era. As he turned from the window, he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of a white labcoat whip around the corner of a decrepit building. By the time he turned to look again, it was gone. It did not matter to him. He’d already won.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on fics for each song of the damn album now. *flings self into void*
> 
> Also, Wily's hard to write without sounding too pretentious.


End file.
